


just a sip

by oh_no_oh_dear



Series: tungle dot hell [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Flirting, M/M, Sam is Captain America and nothing hurts, my specialty: fade-to-black sex, wink wink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2017-03-27
Packaged: 2018-10-11 18:05:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10470927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oh_no_oh_dear/pseuds/oh_no_oh_dear
Summary: Prompt: "Drink me" + Sam/Steve





	

  
It was a _damn_ good party, considering it had been thrown together last-minute. Loud music, elegant champagne glasses (courtesy of Stark) that disappeared for red solo cups (courtesy of Sam), witty and fast-paced conversations that swiftly devolved into “Ya mama” jokes and flip cup (Clint Barton was expressly for-fucking-bidden to play that one). It was fun. _Really_ damn fun. So when talk turned to the wildly successful mission that had led to the party in the first place, Sam didn’t mind.  
  
Hell, he kind of welcomed it.  
  
It had been his first time leading the new Avengers team as Captain America, and everything had gone smoothly (by their standards, anyway). It was a pretty complicated set of parameters, but both Nick Fury and Tony Stark had agreed that Sam was ready to take charge (the mere fact that those two agreed on that was enough to convince the rest of the team.) It had been a long, painful road from the very first time Sam had thrown the shield, only to have it brutally shatter his wrist. He’d learned to tame the iconic vibranium disc, and it was a grateful instrument if he kept his practice up. 

  
The mission sounded like something straight out of those damned comic books that Sam definitely didn’t have (he most _definitely_ didn’t have a mint copy of _Sam Wilson: Captain America #1_ , so you can get that idea out of your head right the fuck now). The son of a foreign diplomat had been kidnapped and held by a splinter group of Inhumans who had no qualms about offing the child if their demands weren’t met. Breaking from the tradition of dealing with their own, Queen Medusa had reached out to the Avengers, citing Sam specifically as a reason. He was… something of a mystery. Whether his ability to communicate with all bird species and their relatives was useful was moot; what baffled people was _what_ he was. Human? Mutant? Inhuman? Sam’s answer was always a shrug and “My mama’s son.”  
  
So. Get in, talk some sense into the Inhumans as one human-mutant-Inhuman to another, get the kid out safe. And it had worked. It had fucking _worked_. No one did a soothing speech like Sam Wilson. And yes, maybe he had several huge and deadly hawks nearby as backup. Whatever. The point was: the boy was safe, the Inhumans owed them a debt, and he really felt like he’d earned the title “Cap.”  
  
  
  
    “I can’t believe you missed your landing so bad,” Natasha laughed, a shotglass of something clear and undoubtedly deadly held elegantly between thumb and forefinger. She knocked back the shot, sputtered (Clint lost his mind laughing at that) and continued, “I thought the mission was over before it started.”  
  
Sam laughed, trailing off into a groan. He’d maybe been a little too eager to get started, leaping out of the jet from too high and nearly landing on a surprised doorman. “God, you’re never gonna let me live that down, huh?”  
  
    “Nah, man. Did you see your fuckin’ _face_?” Clint piped up. He was nursing a bottle of what he claimed was whiskey., although Tony strongly suspected it was low-grade diesel fuel. “You were like--” Clint pulled a terrified face, flapping his arms. Sam sighed, looking playfully put-upon.  
  
    “I get no respect from my team.”  
  
    “Nahhh, we made fun of Ca-- of Steve, too.” Clint continued talking, but Sam had noticed the slip-up. ‘Cap’ was so closely tied with Steve Rogers that Sam knew deep down that some people would take a long time to really think of _him_ as Captain America. He chanced a glance at Steve, who wasn’t bothering to pretend to drink. It didn’t do anything, anyway. Steve looked away from a murmured conversation with Bruce, as though he’d felt Sam’s gaze.  
  
    “Rogers.”  
  
    “Wilson. Cap.” Steve smiled, leaning toward Sam and nodding.  
  
    “You’ve been pretty quiet about the mission. Not like you to be quiet. About anything. Ever.”  
  
    “Ouch.”  
  
    “So…?”  
  
    “So?”  
  
    “How d’you think the mission went?” Sam asked carefully. It wasn’t like he needed Steve’s approval, but the man had been Captain America for a long damn time, so his opinion wasn’t totally worthless.  
  
Steve pursed his lips thoughtfully, and Sam worked overtime not to let his eyes travel to the other man’s mouth. _Nope no not doing that nyet cease and desist._  
  
    “You’re a natural leader, Sam. You did good-- made sure everyone played to their strengths, minimal damage to the opponents, in and out clean. Better than good. Amazing.” Sam took a big swig of his drink -- a gin  & tonic -- and tried to hide the flush of pleasure he felt.  
  
    “Yeah? I did good, eh? Says Cap, even. Shit, I must be--”  
  
    “ _You’re_ Captain America, Sam. Don’t let anyone tell you different.” Steve’s eyes were intense, trained on Sam’s face. In the dim party lighting, his irises looked unusually dark, and if it had been anyone else, Sam would’ve called the look on Steve’s face…  
  
No. Nah. Couldn’t be.  
  
    “You didn’t feel weird taking orders from someone else?” Sam asked, desperate to cut the sudden crackling tension between them. Steve did that thing that made Sam’s insides feel funny, that odd little eyebrow raise coupled with the smirk. You know the one.  
  
    “I don’t mind taking orders from _you_.” And jesus fuck, his voice was just a little bit rough, and slightly deeper than usual, and the rest of the party might as well have disappeared in a puff of smoke for all the rapt attention he was giving Sam.  
  
    “Yeah?” Sam asked, and _shit_ , that was his flirty voice, and he better stop drinking because there was no way that Steve was doing what Sam ~~hoped~~ thought he was doing.  
  
    “Yeah.” Steve’s fingers twitched a little and then he was reaching for Sam’s glass, taking it gently from his unresistant fingers.  
“Can I…?”  
  
Sam hoped he didn’t look at dumbstruck as he felt.  
“I mean… it doesn’t do anything to you, right? But uh. Go ahead.”  
  
And Steve “Extra” Rogers quickly ran his tongue up the side of the glass to catch a rolling bead of condensation, and okay, _yeah_ , this was flirting. Sam slowly raised an eyebrow as Steve took a small, yet agonizingly slow sip of Sam’s drink, quickly licking his lips after and making a low sound of satisfaction.  
  
“Jesus,” Sam breathed before he could stop himself.  
  
    “You did good with the shield, too,” Steve continued as though the conversation from before had been uninterrupted. There was a small pause and Sam watched Steve swirling the ice in the glass, fidgety as always. When Steve looked up, his expression was tinged for the first time with uncertainty.  
“You looked good in the suit, Sam,” he murmured, watching for Sam’s reaction. Sam didn’t bother to school his features, letting his slow smile do the talking for him.  
  
    “You like the suit, Rogers?” he said in a low voice, and _damn_ but the look Steve gave him was just short of predatory.  
  
    “I _really_ like the suit, Wilson.” Steve leaned even closer now, the cold glass resting against the side of Sam’s thigh. Not quite touching him, but tell Sam’s racing heart that.  
“Think I’d like taking it off you more.” Shit. Sam nearly stood up and yelled for everyone else to get the fuck out, but he controlled himself.  
  
    “Sam. Sam. _Saaaaam!_ ”  
  
Steve leaned back in his seat smoothly, taking another casual sip of Sam’s drink. Sam whipped his head around irritably, seeking out the source of the interruption-- Clint and Natasha were pulling on their coats, and Tony was standing nearby with his arm slung over Bruce’s shoulders. Bruce was trying hard to pretend he hadn’t overheard Sam and Steve’s conversation. Tony was doing no such thing, although he blessedly let his leer say everything that his mouth wasn’t.  
  
    “ _What_ , Barton?” Sam asked, trying not to be so aware of Steve’s body heat almost right up against his side.  
  
    “Takin’ the party to a bar. Let’s go.”

Natasha’s eyes flitted between Sam and Steve for just a second before she leaned in and muttered something into Clint’s good ear. Clint did a double-take, making Nat snort with repressed laughter, and Bruce was going pink about the ears.  
  
    “I think Steve’s gonna hang out and give the new Cap some pointers,” Tony said, clapping Bruce jovially on the shoulder. He paused, looking thoughtful. “Or maybe Wilson will give _him_ some pointers? I dunno how that kind of thing works. I mean, you two have very different… fighting styles.”  
  
    “Y’all are fucking dismissed, get the hell out,” Sam said, crossing his arms. He added a grin to soften his words, watching his friends and team mates troop out of his apartment with various knowing smirks and winks.  
  
He barely had time to turn back to look at Steve before ice-cold lips were pressing against his, making him take a sharp breath in. Steve’s mouth carried the sharp taste of gin, but that had nothing to do with the shiver that went through Sam. He moved his hands, sliding one hand up to drag his fingers through the short hair at the base of Steve’s head. Someone groaned, long and low, and Sam couldn’t tell if it was him or Steve. He didn’t really care.  
  
Steve pulled back just far enough to murmur against Sam’s lips. “What’s the plan, Cap?” He pressed his hips against Sam, his desire obvious. Sam pretended to think about it.  
  
    “Got a few strategies in mind, Rogers.”  
  
  
  
Twenty minutes later, Clint popped his head into the apartment, having forgotten his whiskey. After he glanced into the living room, he decided that no whiskey was worth having to see that. Steve’s o-face would haunt his dreams, and Sam’s hoarse groan as Steve gripped his hips--

  
Well. _Well._  
  
Maybe he’d file that noise away for later.

 


End file.
